Bring On The Night
by Pencil Neck
Summary: Faith lost something precious, and she's out for blood. But that's not the whole story... Series of connected one-shots concerning the events of the Wolves at the Gate arc of S8 comics.
1. Chapter 1: Faith

**Chapter 1: Faith**

Faith stalks. She doesn't set a trap or lie in wait. She stalks, like any natural hunter. Unafraid, unashamed. She's in it for the kill. No pity for the weak prey in her sights, no sympathy for its distress and inevitable painful death.

And there will be death.

* * *

She never wanted to come back here. To its dead streets and hollow corners. Ghosts are all that's left here for her. Ghosts and a sad funerary feeling.

She had thought, once, that she could stay with Robin. She'd fooled herself again that Giles could fix her. That he could answer the questions in her soul, provide her with that safe feeling she's seen on TV.

And a million years ago, there was a moment when she thought she'd felt that. Maybe touched it.

It's all over now. She's not going back. And nothing and no one will ever try to touch her again.

Her mind fleetingly races with something about full circles, and back to the beginning. A fitting end or whatever.

In fucking Boston.

* * *

Faith doesn't eat. She doesn't sleep. She walks the streets without seeing. Along Dorchester to West Broadway past the Goodwill that for the first ten years of her life provided the necessities of clothing and furniture, toys such as they were.

Then she learned to steal, learned to lie. Learned to hurt and destroy. And the world opened up wider than she could handle. It ate her up. She gnawed right back, spitting it in the face of everyone nearby. And she wasn't hungry anymore.

But she's not thinking this. It just is, like a backdrop screen for a cheap fifties musical. You know it's there, but you pretend it's something else. It would ruin the movie otherwise.

She pounds the sidewalk down with her boots. Her stomach growls, her eyes are red with sleep and something else she's ignoring.

She doesn't eat. She doesn't sleep. She doesn't feel.

* * *

It's done now, but Faith feels… less. Not the relief she was expecting. Or the guilt, which honestly wouldn't have mattered. Willow is staring with her eyes and her heart hanging out. Like she can't believe it. Like she didn't know. Like she didn't practically ask for this.

Faith smiles. Willow's gonna recover. Gonna see this for what it is, what it means. Nobody gets out of this clean. Not even Buffy Summers. She's gonna live with the mark of this for a long, long time.

But everyone's marked. Everyone's tainted and broken and stupid. Faith's just done hiding and pretending that she's not.

The real question is can Willow actually do it? Or is Faith gonna have to roll up her sleeves again?

* * *

Faith had a car once. When she was fourteen, for two months. She'd even paid for it, $300 bucks to some strung out freak. It was ugly, blue and rusted with plastic seats and a broken speedometer. She loved it. It was everything; a place to crash, freedom, safety. She drove clear to Detroit once for a concert. Didn't tell anyone. Nobody asked.

She almost got all the way home before it died. It just stopped on the Mass Pike outside Framingham, blocking traffic and giving Faith that panicky feeling when things are out of control. She sat there turning the key in the ignition, swearing and slamming her hands on the wheel for a half-hour until the tow truck came and moved her to the shoulder. She couldn't afford the trip into Boston.

She left her car there and hitched a ride with a couple of nice Harvard boys. She learned new things.

Didn't tell anyone. Nobody asked. She never got the car back.

The concert rocked pretty hard though.

* * *

Night is when she moves. She glides through the darkness, she swims in it. She belongs to it. She can feel herself breathing it in, feels it sticking to her insides.

The sun offends her eyes. It hurts her skin and shows too much. Daylight confuses her now. Nothing should be that bright. Nothing should be that clear or colourful.

Not anymore.

* * *

Willow calls her in a panic. It's too early in the morning, and Faith doesn't understand right away. She laughs. Making jokes about Buffy, cracks about Satsu. Schoolgirl crushes and something about 'eating out'.

But then she feels it. Or rather she doesn't. It's just gone. And from what Willow is saying, it's gone forever.

Faith lets the phone drop. Lets Willow keep rambling and crying to the empty air. She can still hear her voice. Japanese vampires and a red flash. Something about the scythe.

She grabs her jacket from the back of the chair. She has a mission. Her first as the one and only Chosen one, and her last. She knows that much.

* * *

Faith finds her alone. Sitting of all places in a graveyard, crying.

It doesn't move her. She doesn't want to care. She doesn't want to talk. She doesn't want to learn and grow and share and cry.

Satsu begs. She cries out her explanation with tears and gulping sobs. Willow reaches out to Faith, pleading with her to give the girl a chance, to give herself a chance.

This little girl. This stupid, sad little girl. This traitor, this bitch. She loved her, no surprise. Loved her so much she betrayed her to keep her. Thought Buffy would be happier without the burden. More free, more able to love her back. She thought…

It doesn't matter why. The reason is always the same. Love and selfishness and fear.

Faith takes a step forward, pulling the knife from its sheath. She can't hear anything else.

Satsu hurt Buffy. Satsu stole from Buffy, stole everything that mattered. Took it away, and left Faith alone. Satsu will pay.

* * *

Faith watches calmly while Willow tries her best. It won't work. It's too late.

She sits down on a tombstone. Looks at the blood that drips off the knifepoint, onto her hands and her jeans.

She watches Willow watching her. Wants to laugh at the fear in her eyes. Silly witch.

She's going to tell her. Just do it. Save everyone the trouble of a big showdown. This is the plan; it has been since the beginning. Faith makes the mess, and Willow cleans it up. She'll understand. Willow went to the dark place too. She'll see.

Faith closes her eyes.

Just do it.

* * *


	2. Chapter 2: Willow

**Chapter 2: Willow**

Panic. Flitting thoughts whirling around at the speed of light in her head and not knowing what to do, or how any of this happened in the first place. And all the blood is making those thoughts turn green and dizzy and Willow thinks that maybe she should sit down so she does that, resting gingerly on the tombstone, trying to be respectful of this dead stranger's marker.

Willow looks up. Faith's eyes are closed. Satsu's eyes are closed too, now that Willow's shaking hand has stopped them from staring blankly at her. Faith is chanting, lips moving without sound. A silent murmur that Willow can't read but knows isn't a good sign.

A moment of silence. Not really for Satsu, whom Willow never knew that well and didn't think was good enough for Buffy in the first place. As if anybody could be. But dead was never part of the plan. Some hurt, a handful of fear. Throw in a little bruising for flavor, sure. But dead… It's not what she wanted.

It's not.

* * *

Willow knows what she is, what she could be. She can see all the intricate pieces and where they should go. Sometimes she's tempted to try it out, the first little step. Just to see. Intellectual curiosity maybe. Or pride. But it's there and it stings at the edge of her consciousness. It's not darkness or evil. Just a growing sense that maybe she's learned too much, grown too powerful to really consider herself human.

Sometimes this fight just seems so trivial. There's no end, no winning. No clear cut dividing line between right and wrong. It's all just a swirling mass of flesh and energy and power that winds up taking sides. And the people she loves are sometimes so downright stupid and petty and selfish and Willow's fingers itch to fix it so Buffy and Xander were just maybe that much smarter or happier or whatever-er so they'd just quit whining.

But only sometimes. And Willow tries hard to keep those sometimes-es at a minimum. Because she loves them. She loves them so much. And they love her. They need her power, and her smarts. They couldn't survive without her. That's what they say anyway. But they have no idea what she is. What she could be. They say she's the big gun. Willow knows she's not.

She's nuclear war.

It would be nice if someone knew. But they never can, not while she still wants people to look at her and see Willow.

* * *

Willow calls her. There's nobody else to call. It's too early in the morning, and Faith doesn't understand right away. There's no time. Willow shouts into the phone, pushing past the sobs that break up her words and cut off her sentences. Trying to stop Faith from saying the things she's saying, knowing that when the information sinks in she'll regret it.

She asks what they're going to do, her voice wavering. Faith doesn't answer and Willow just knows she's taken off in a fury and she panics because she should have known better. Should have remembered how easy it is to be blinded by hate and pain and oh, what has she done.

* * *

It was just a flash of red light. That's all. It's not what she expected would be the end, that's for sure. One blinding moment took away everything Willow had made on that last day in Sunnydale. And one thing she hadn't.

Willow finds Buffy down, cut and bruised and crying. And powerless. Willow has never seen Buffy so helpless, so weak. The Cruciamentum… yeah, it had been hard. But Buffy had fought. Tried to, anyway. Hadn't just sat around crying about it.

Willow feels a surge of adrenaline. Followed by a feeling that she only later recognizes as anger. Anger at Buffy for being weak. At Satsu for making her that way. At herself for not being able to stop it. And at everything for changing, in just a flash of red light.

* * *

Willow was ten years old and her new babysitter was almost fifteen. She was in High School and wore tank tops with plaid shirts knotted at the waist, and jeans with little rips in the leg. After the first night, Willow stopped complaining about her parents leaving night after night for their important lives. The new babysitter made macaroni and cheese from a box, and winked conspiratorially as she tossed out the macrobiotic sludge her mother had prepared. She hugged Willow when she promised not to tell about the boyfriend that came over. She brushed Willow's long red hair and told her she was going to be so pretty when she grew up. It made Willow want to be grown up already, so she could be pretty now. Pretty for her.

At thirteen, Willow's mom told her that she was finally grown up enough to stay home without a babysitter. Willow ran eagerly to the full length mirror, expecting to have changed magically into the pretty girl she'd been promised. The gangly, pale and awkward girl that stared back burst into tears. There was no magic. She would always be this thing; too smart and too skinny, too ugly for anyone to really see. And her babysitter was never coming back, and would never love her, and nobody would hug her or brush her hair again.

Funny thing. Willow can't even remember her name now.

* * *

Willow's eyes, unfocused, notice movement. Faith raises her head. Smirks at Willow and she can see finally that there's nothing threatening in that expression. That every time Willow had been intimidated, Faith's bravado had only ever been that.

Willow had been afraid of Faith. Of what she meant. And she'd hated her, violently and almost immediately, for all these things she naturally was that Willow could never be after all of her trying. Xander's fantasy. Giles' protégé. Buffy's equal.

She tried to put all these bad feelings away. Instead she put them inside a Faith that she created. One that deserved all the hatred she clung to. Except for jealousy. Jealousy she kept for herself.

* * *

Willow knows right away that something's gone wrong. Not sure how or why, but something's definitely wrong. That vampire witch, maybe she did something right before she died. Whatever it is, Willow's the only one that can fix this.

So she does. The vampires die with a flick of her wrist, every single one made ash with a thought. It takes no time and less of her strength. The army gathers their wounded and their dead. Satsu won't look her in the eye, and Willow can't get that out of her head.

* * *

Xander had always seen her, when nobody else did. When people shoved past her and made her drop her books, he always defended her with his mouth if not his fists. He made her feel special. So she tried extra hard to look special for him, and for the first day of school.

No makeup; she wasn't allowed. But she brushed her hair for twice as long, and made sure her outfit matched. The green tartan-y dress wasn't really anything different than usual. But she knew that it made her look tall and thin, and that's what boys liked. Tall girls. Thin girls.

Girls like Cordelia. Every time, Cordelia caught her off guard with her sniping insults. So used to being invisible, Willow never expected to be noticed, let alone by the most popular girl in school. Cordelia always made her feel bad, about her clothes, her hair, her shyness. But still, underneath, there was always a tiny thrill that someone like her had noticed someone like Willow.

Like with the new girl. Willow felt stupid at being so excited about such an insignificant thing. A girl like that sitting down beside her as though it wasn't total social suicide. But she was excited, and grateful, and confused. And then the girl, Buffy, asked for help with school and Willow deflated for a moment. It's never her. Always the brain.

But maybe not. The new girl stayed. Chose her over Cordelia right there in front of witnesses and Willow hoped that maybe this was different. Maybe it wasn't a trick or a dare, or a joke thought up by that jerk Larry. Maybe this Buffy person saw her like Xander saw her. As special.

And maybe, if people like Xander and Jesse and this girl Buffy could see it, maybe it was actually there.

* * *

Just do it.

That's something from a commercial. Shoes, or maybe Gatorade. Willow doesn't watch television much. But Faith is saying it, over and over like it means something.

And Willow would. She'd 'just do it', if she knew what 'it' was. Because someone should know what comes next. Someone should tell her how to stop staring out into the grey night, mind swirling out of control and everything shaking in the cold that seems to come from inside her and not from sitting on this hard marble for too long.

What would Buffy do. That's how she usually handles things. That's how she finds the courage to fight gods and monsters, bullies and fears. But Buffy is just Buffy now. Just one girl afraid in the world. Afraid of the world. Crying on the floor because, big news, someone she slept with betrayed her. Really, Buffy should have seen it coming.

Willow turns her eyes back to Faith. She looks so small. Almost tiny, even as she looks terrifying all covered in blood and holding that knife out for Willow to take as she says it again…

Just do it.

And Willow's eyes widen and her mouth drops open and she stares at the hilt because she's not like that anymore and neither is Faith, except that right now they're exactly like that and how did any of this even happen, because none of this is anything like what she wanted.

It's not.

* * *


	3. Chapter 3: Xander

**CHAP 3: Xander**

Xander buries his head. That's what he does when things go wrong. He remembers how she put it, that time, in the song. Hides behind his Buffy.

Not his Buffy. Never his Buffy, not that he really minds that now. Not because of the thing, before that even. He always knew she was out of his league. Over time he realized that she was out of his orbit. Not a judgment call on him, or her. Just truth. She's far away, locked up inside herself. And he's spilling out all over the place. So it's okay, that she was never his Buffy in that way.

If she had ever been, she'd probably be dead now.

* * *

Time is a funny thing. Xander can't think of an example of where he had enough time, or the right time. Or even when time flew by when he needed it to. Like now.

He wonders how many times he can grieve before it stops hurting. Before he's immune. And when that happens, he doesn't know if that would be better or worse.

He saw it happen. Of course he did. He missed Anya's blaze of glory. And Cordelia's big goodbye. Makes sense that Renee's would be horrible and brutal and so fast but so agonizingly slow and he would be there to count off the seconds as she died.

Tick. Tick. Tick. She's already impaled, and falling. Eyes closing. He's yelling and running but it's too late. Time won't go back so he can save her.

Tick. Tick. Tick. Fluttering eyelids and he can see there's something behind them still so he takes her in his arms and she hurts so much so he prays that she goes quickly. Time stands still.

Tick. Tick. Tick. She's gone. He can't move. Clinging to her body as everything erupts around him. Time moves on without him.

Xander doesn't know what he did to make time hate him.

* * *

Xander pours her ashes away, drunk on sake and delirium and pain like nothing he's felt. Not more, just different.

Anya had been more than hard. Impossible. She had been so giddy with the joy of being alive. Always feeling out of place, always grateful that Xander loved her. And him, too stupid to hold on for dear life to the only thing that had ever made sense. Anya, his crazy lovely brave human girl. He still sometimes expects to see her walk through the door, and it still kills him that she won't, ever again.

Cordy was a creeping hurt. It was easy to just imagine that she was still in L.A., fighting the good fight. He had been proud of his little part in that, proud of her. And it stung knowing she'd never know that. In the moments where he remembered that she died long before her body gave out, that he wasn't there to say goodbye. That he never told her that she had mattered to him; that he had treated her badly and maybe it didn't really matter anymore and anyway they were just kids but still. He had cared. She deserved to know that.

This moment, scattering Renee's ashes, feels like tipping away a chance at happiness. A kiss. One single kiss is all he has to remember her by. Other days, the awkward dancing around and feeling out for reciprocation, doesn't count. It all really started with that kiss. And ended. He shouldn't have, not before a battle. He knows better than to hope, and because he was stupid again he robbed her of everything. Of her life, of her promise, even of a meaningful death. Because of him, she got stabbed in the back before she could even draw her weapon.

And it didn't save the world.

* * *

Buffy comes to him. He's not ready to talk, but he lets her in. She understands about this stuff. It's different for her, the badness, but same enough. Love and possibilities and death and turning evil and betrayal and hope and all the stuff that seems to always happen to them. It's the same. Even if it's not.

She sits beside him. She looks different. She shouldn't but she does. Smaller, Xander thinks. She's always been bigger than life to him. She was his purpose and without that he doesn't know anything anymore. He doesn't know where he belongs, or what he should be doing.

Buffy falls against his chest, wrapping her arms around him. Calls him her Xander and it cuts through him and he can't stop the tears.

They cry together, and neither one feels better.

* * *

Xander was always afraid of the monster under his bed. It was mean and ugly and grabbed at his legs and tried to pull him under. He decided to outsmart it, so he jumped in and out of bed, as far out as he could. He always landed hard. Not a graceful boy.

His dad would come in because of the thump that made the china cabinet shudder, and Xander would try to explain. But his dad would just tell him to stop being such a baby. Maybe cuff his ear if he was in that kind of mood.

And he was mostly always in that kind of mood.

So Xander tried a different way. He pulled over the desk chair, and used that as a bridge to his bed. It worked for a while, but the chair was old and cheap and one morning it broke and he thumped on the floor and the china cabinet shuddered and his dad came in and screamed and threw him across the room and into the dresser.

His dad went out and Xander snuck into the garage and tried to fix the chair. He hammered and glued and sanded and it looked alright except for the bent nails that wouldn't come out so he just hammered them deeper into the wood.

When his dad came home with red eyes and smelling sweet and sickly, Xander was waiting to show him that he'd fixed the chair and his dad laughed at him and smashed it on the floor and told him he couldn't do anything right. Made him hold his palms out as he took off his belt. He never said Xander could use his tools.

That night, Xander lay on the floor beside his bed and waited for the monster to take him.

* * *

Willow. Xander's been thinking about her. About where she's been and what she's done and maybe what she's turning into. And he's been remembering a million little Willow moments that made him love her in all her Willow-ness. Her kindness and her generosity and her little shy smile. How she always let him hang out and didn't ask why he was never home. He never told her the truth about that. Never told anyone. Secretly afraid if he did, they would know he deserved it. That he was worthless and stupid, like they said.

Willow never acted like she noticed. She listened when he talked. She cared when he was hurt. She told him off when he was thoughtless, because she believed he could learn and change and be better. She even thought he was cute, way before he noticed her and way longer than he deserved. He never got why she thought he was so special. But he was always grateful for it. Grateful for her.

Willow says she's on her way back. That the deed is done. Xander's not sure what that means, but it sounds like more death, more loss. He's not having it. He's can't lose anything or anyone else. Not Dawn, not Buffy.

And especially not Willow.

* * *


	4. Chapter 4: Buffy

**Chapter 4: Buffy**

It's all about her. Buffy knows that's what everyone thinks she thinks. But nobody ever considers the possibility that she's right. Because she is. Everything, all the bad and the pain and the death. It's all about Buffy.

She gets the exciting super villains all interested in her, brings her friends into a battle they're not prepared for, and sleeps with people that inevitably and consistently decide that betrayal makes the heart grow fonder. She can't believe she didn't see it coming.

And poor Xander. He didn't deserve that. He never deserves that. And it's always him. Or Giles. Or Willow.

Except she never slept with Warren. But the bullet was meant for her. So yeah, it counts.

It's all about Buffy.

Buffy doesn't know what to do. Where to put her hands, and what to do with them when they get where they're going. It's all new territory, which is exciting to be sure, but she's feeling a lot unprepared and therefore insecure. And there are consequences to consider, because there always are. But she can be careful, and maybe just this once she can have one little thing for Buffy the Person. And maybe she can leave Buffy the Slayer and Buffy the Lonely and Buffy the Doomed One at the door and just…

Oh. Wow.

Willow's back. Satsu's dead. Her body is taken away pretty much immediately, maybe for Buffy's sake, maybe not. But she's kinda not noticing because Faith is standing there behind Willow, covered in blood and staring at her and shaking so hard and it's something so far removed from what Buffy expects that she just stares back.

Faith moves closer, and with each step she seems to be looking for something from Buffy and not finding it. She stops inches away from Buffy's face. Inspecting her, still desperately hoping to find that something and in a flash Buffy realizes what it is they've both lost.

Faith asks if it's true, and they both know it is but it seems like the time to say it out loud so Buffy does. Cracked and hesitant, she says the words, wanting to do it properly. Into every generation a slayer is born. One girl in all the world. Slayer, comma The. Faith's tears start falling and she swears she didn't want this. Never wanted this. Buffy knows that. Now that it doesn't matter.

Buffy winces as Faith shouts, and rails and swears at anyone who'll listen that they have to do something. They have to make it like it was. Buffy cries, watching the burden of responsibility cage Faith in ways that jail never could. Knowing that her pain, her loneliness has transferred along with it. Maybe Faith has more experience with that part, maybe she'll be able to deal with it, make better choices.

Buffy finds herself hoping so.

Willow totally wants her. By having to say that she doesn't, it just proves she does. And it proves that she's offended that Buffy didn't try her on first. It's a good argument, and Buffy will hang on to it for later. Right now they've got to save her… girlfriend… lover… her Satsu from falling to her death.

But don't think they won't be finishing this conversation later.

Buffy the Freak. Buffy the Arsonist. Buffy the Juvenile Delinquent.

Buffy the Mental Patient.

It had been real. She remembered everything in crisp, horrifying detail. It wasn't a dream or a delusion. She wasn't on drugs. Not then at least. Now she was on blue and red capsules, twice a day. They made her feel silly and fuzzy, and she tried once to hide it under her tongue but the nurse grabbed her face and dug around with her fingers in Buffy's mouth until she found it. Forced her to swallow it, even though she choked a little. She remembered that too.

But she smiled, and laughed and told the doctor that she'd imagined the whole thing. That she was going through a rough time with her boyfriend. That the fire had been an accident. Whatever they wanted to hear.

Because her parents kept fighting and Dawn kept crying and it was bad, really bad, and for sure it was her fault and she wanted it to stop. And it would. Because she was quitting. Someone else could save the world.

She was going to save her family.

She looks up from where she's fallen. It's gone, and Buffy wipes her eyes in the moment she realizes she's crying. And why.

She's crying for the girls that won't live through this; for the girls that will. And a tiny bit, just a little for herself. Not out of fear or guilt or anything like that, but from relief.

It's finally over.

Faith has done something stupid.

Buffy rushes to the infirmary. Faith is sleeping now, arms bandaged and stomach pumped. Buffy tilts her head. She's never going to understand this girl.

Giles is sitting on the next cot, head in hands, working his temples with his fingers. Buffy sits beside him. Takes his hand gently away from his face, and holds it in hers, over her heart. Kisses his knuckles, and rests his hand lightly down on Faith's. Giving him away. Her Giles. Faith's Giles.

She looks at the floor, hoping to stem the tears before they come flowing down and betray her for the coward she is. Giles smiles at her, understanding but shaking his head. Takes Faith's hand, and Buffy's, holding them together between his palms. She never realized how big, how calloused and strong his hands are. How strong he is altogether. He can belong to them both. There's enough of him to share.

Buffy smiles, resting her head on his shoulder. They wait for Faith to wake up.

Buffy looks for her. Willow zapped them all back and everyone's accounted for except for Satsu.

She wants to tell her she's sorry. Sorry that she's broken and useless when it comes to loving people and letting them in and being a good person. Sorry that she promised them powers and couldn't keep them from being taken away. That she's not sorry about what they shared, but sorry it couldn't be more, couldn't mean more to her.

Willow pulls her aside. Whispers in her ear and Buffy just stares. Not possible. Not even remotely possible. Satsu wasn't like that. She couldn't.

But it sinks in and Buffy remembers the look on her face, her insistence on staying in the fight. The fear and the helplessness and the regret after they got back to the roof. Every single moment clicks into the chain of events and Buffy trembles with the effort of holding herself in, because that first and only night she'd been shy and reluctant and wary but Satsu had smiled and just looked at her and they'd gone to her room and even though it had seemed all so natural and perfect she can see now that Satsu was on a mission and that means that the best night of her life, all of it was a lie and it wasn't about just being with Buffy, it was about having her and distracting her and making her weak.

Buffy looks down. Ashamed, hurt and boiling over with a fury that feels too familiar. She brushes Willow's concerned hand off her shoulder. Bites her lip and strides off to her room before she does something dangerous and terrible, before the words that are forming in her mind come out. Instead she turns and asks Willow to take care of it.

Faith wanted to give it back. That's what she said when she woke up. That's why she did the stupid thing. But Buffy can't take it back. Not like that, and likely not at all. There's a line, a chain. From Buffy to Faith and then to all of them and now only Faith can carry the burden.

Faith looks up at her in a way she's seen before. On Riley's face, in Satsu's eyes. Radiating from Spike in every glance and gesture. Buffy's eyes widen, and Faith turns her head, ashamed at giving away so much.

Buffy takes Faith's hand. She didn't know. But it's not a surprise. And it makes a few things from their past a little easier to understand. Makes Faith a lot easier to understand.

But she's not that Buffy anymore. And Faith's not either. Not that Faith was ever Buffy, except for that one time when she was… What she means is Faith is different now, too. And it's strange, because now she can see a place in her heart that could be for Faith. And Faith, for all her bluster and isolation, was always the one that could have been part of things. Always had the chance to make real connections, have a life. Even if she didn't exactly know how.

Faith turns back, eyebrows hopping and a smirk planted on her face, and Buffy can see it's covering up the fear and embarrassment at being caught out. So Buffy just smiles and rolls her eyes. Squeezes Faith's hand and for once doesn't have to think about how much pressure she's using.

And even though nothing is certain and it's possible that the burden will take Faith's light away like it did hers and it's still too early to tell what any of it means for any of them, one thing is still irrevocably true.

It's still all about her.


	5. Chapter 5: Satsu

**Chapter 5: Satsu**

No, please. She's sorry. So sorry and she'll do anything to fix it.

Just, she has to see her. Has to explain. That it was all a mistake. She thought she could do it, be the best; be the one...

She wanted all the right things and did all the wrong things to make it happen. So young and stupid and scared and wrong, so entirely wrong and nothing made sense and just tell her how to make it better.

Oh please no…

It hits her hard. That first moment when Buffy comes out of the castle, hugging her chest, wearing her yoga pants and a UC Sunnydale tee shirt. Her hair back in a ponytail, smiling brightly with a look of pure terror on her face as they all tumble out of the van and Satsu is already hopelessly in love.

And she doesn't have a chance. She knows it and she's okay with it. Alright, not totally okay with it, but without a hope in hell there's not much she can actually do about it. Except pay attention. And dress up as cute as possible. And try harder, and be better than anyone else. But other than that she doesn't have a chance.

Satsu couldn't believe it. She was so happy she thought she'd burst into a million pieces. Aniko had kissed her. Kissed her hard, pushing her against the lockers in the change room after field hockey practice, slipping her hand under her shirt and cupping her breast and Satsu squeaked in surprise, and because Aniko's hand was cold. Then stopping and breathing together as Aniko smiled and blushed and kissed her nose and said she'd always wanted to do that.

And Satsu giggled and looked at the floor, and said her too.

Two days later they were flushed and sweating, pressed together in the sanitation room, fumbling with buttons and clasps and underwear and even the smell of industrial cleaner didn't stop Satsu from knowing as she came hard with Aniko's fingers inside her that this was what perfect happiness felt like.

Satsu didn't understand why she was being called to the Principal's office. Or why her mother and father were there. Until she saw Aniko, crying and wailing and telling them all that Satsu had seduced her and it hadn't been her fault. Aniko's mother comforting her daughter, shooting looks of disgust and disdain at her. Her own parents not looking at her, not comforting. Not interested in the truth, only in the shame.

In her new school they spoke English, not Japanese. In her new school, she wore a scratchy wool uniform. Taught by strict nuns and wooden rulers and the fear of God. Hundreds of miles away from her family, from Aniko, from anything that she knew. In her new school, she was never by herself, but always alone.

It was all wrong. Satsu can see that, from where she is. Every step she took, every decision and every reaction was all wrong and led to this.

What she wouldn't give to be able to explain everything, make it right. But it would only confuse things, make it all worse for them.

It would be funny, how much she screwed up, if it wasn't for the being dead part.

Stupid lip gloss. Stupid, stupid witch for making that spell and stupid everybody else for not admitting they love her too and stepping forward to fix it.

It's not fair. How she's so nice about it. Can't hate her, and can't stop feeling like a freak for loving this girl who, aside from being straight, would never fall for someone barely nineteen who dresses like a dumb anime character half the time. No matter how many nice things she says.

Then he shows up, flying around and being all mysterious and violent and uber-villainy. And none of it matters because he's throwing her around like a rag doll and Satsu never thought she'd see Buffy lose and it really weirds her out.

Buffy slips a bit on her pedestal, and Satsu has a tiny flame of hope because maybe now she's more attainable and that means if she keeps trying then maybe Buffy will let her in, even just a little.

Oh God, what has she done. Buffy can never know. She wasn't good enough. Could never be good enough. She knows that now and everything went so wrong and so many dead. Her fault.

Willow is glaring at her. Willow's so powerful it's scary and honestly a lot creepy with how interested she is in Buffy's sex life. But that glare is about something else and Satsu averts her eyes and hopes she doesn't know. Can't read her mind or something.

She won't face Buffy. It'll be okay if she leaves. Just goes away. Then she won't have to see Buffy's face turn away in shame and disgust. She can't bear that, the idea that Buffy would be disappointed in her.

She shouldn't have been there in the first place. Buffy ordered her out of the fight and she should have listened. Without her the plan might have worked and they'd all still be Slayers and she might have been able to say goodbye to Buffy properly. Maybe even touch her again. But it's no good now and there's no way Buffy will ever forgive her because how can she.

Best night of her life. Hands down. Even considering the intruding audience to Buffy's embarrassment and backtracking. Satsu even feels a little glad because now Buffy can't deny it, can't pretend it never happened.

Satsu wants everyone to know that it wasn't stupid to want her. That it wasn't wrong and in the end Buffy came to her and wanted her and it was beautiful and perfect and nobody can take that away from her. Not even Buffy.

Satsu runs. Hides. Using every piece of knowledge and every ounce of self-preservation to escape. All the times she'd faced an enemy, she'd been a little scared. But not alone, so the fear would turn into a thrill and she'd attack and it would die and that was that. Now she can't believe she was ever afraid of something as easy as a demon. What she's running from is more terrifying than anything she could have ever imagined.

So she runs. And hides. And still she knows she'll be caught. Because she made a mistake, because she did the one thing that Buffy never ever did.

She'd forgotten about Faith.

It was only a second. One second of confusion, and it cost her everything.

Leaping up to catch the scythe and watching it turn in the air and her fingers almost touching the wood. And one second where her mind felt strange and a voice that didn't sound like hers whispered horrible thoughts and she listened and it sounded right for just a moment and her hand pulled back that fraction of an inch.

And even though she shook it off, it didn't matter because it was too late. She'd overshot the mark and was falling down and down as her hand swiped at nothing.

A clawed hand grabbed the scythe and pointed teeth grinned and she knew in that second she had betrayed her calling and betrayed her sisters and betrayed Buffy.

She still watches her. Watches them all as they try to recover and fit everything together to make up a version of truth. She wonders if Buffy's noticed yet. That she's helping and caring and feeling. That the burden being lifted actually did it. Made Buffy part of the world again.

She hopes they stick together. She really does. They need each other, and they need the fight, and no matter how easy they think it would be to walk away and have a normal life, they would miss it. It's all they know.

And she wonders when she'll be sent away from this perch above the world, to heaven or hell or to her ancestors or whatever comes next. Whether she'll still be able to watch them, whether she'll even care. Will she still love her like this, this aching solitary pain that seems to be constant but can't be because it hits her in waves that never stop coming.

Because that would suck.

FIN


End file.
